


Easy Like Sunday Morning (Sex for Breakfast)

by stereokem



Series: Blue Streak [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aprons, Breakfast, Cooking, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Groping, Harry Hart-Throb, Humor, Kingsmen without clothes, Language Kink, M/M, Riding, domestic Hartwin, lazy morning sex, much porn, sexy music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 09:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4132794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereokem/pseuds/stereokem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the (unimaginatively-labeled) tin. </p><p>Harry awakes one Sunday morning to find that his lover has taken it upon himself to prepare breakfast. The fact that he is cooking in nothing more than Harry’s button-up and a silly apron means that, inevitably, breakfast will have to be postponed.</p><p>(Companion to "Rated R for Explicit Language" and "The Platonic Blow")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy Like Sunday Morning (Sex for Breakfast)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been writing (and gearing up to write) a lot of angst lately, so I needed a light-hearted romp to take my mind off of it. This idea has been bouncing around in my head for a while. I blame my muse, and the song “Feelin’ Love” by Paula Cole, because if that isn’t a lazy, morning-sex song I don’t know what is. Also, listen to Chet Faker’s cover of “No Diggity”, because damn. See end of work for listening links.
> 
> Surprisingly, I did not put this one through a series of edits. It’s been checked for spelling/grammar and whatnot, but I may have missed some things. 
> 
> Also, big shout-out to all you podficcers, readers, betas, and commentators. You guys are such an essential part of fandom, and sometimes don't get enough credit.
> 
> And, lastly, I wrote this as sort of a companion to "Rated R for Explicit Language" and "The Platonic Blow", set an undetermined amount of time after the latter where the boys have an established relationship.

 

 

**(-KM-)**

 

It was rare for Harry Hart to be roused on a Sunday morning by the smell of coffee brewing and the muffled sound music playing.

Rare because, until recently, he had been living quite alone; further to that, the person with whom he was now regularly sharing a living space seldom awoke of his own volition at what might be considered a decent hour. Thus, to be woken in such a manner was uncommon, and more than a little puzzling—

But, not entirely unwelcome.

Opening his eyes, Harry sat up carefully in his large bed and blinked somewhat blearily. Though the curtains were mostly still drawn, a bit of the morning sunlight was streaming through. A glance at the analog clock on his nightstand told him that it was just after eight—later than he preferred to wake, but it _was_ Sunday, and he _had_ gotten in quite late last night. . . .

Shifting, Harry craned his head to look back at the other side of the bed; where there should have been another body sleeping (heavily) away, it was empty, the sheets rumpled and a crease in the pillow where a head had been laying. Harry reached over and laid his hand upon the sheets; they radiated a faint warmth under his palm. _Hmm_. So, Eggsy had been here not too long ago—but what on earth was the boy doing awake at _this_ hour? The two-week mission in Estonia that Eggsy had just returned from had him getting in at around one in the morning; Harry had been about to drift off when he felt his young lover climb into bed and wrap himself naked around him. Harry had been cohabitating with Eggsy long enough to know that, while not lazy, Eggsy didn’t need much of an excuse to sleep half the day away; that he should be up and about before Harry was almost unheard of.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. Well, if it included hot caffeinated beverages and soft jazz, surely it couldn’t be _that_ nefarious. He might as well see what the boy was up to.

He drew back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, slipping his feet into the house-shoes he had set there the night before. He picked up his glasses—not that he needed them, but it was habit now—and settled them onto the bridge of his nose. He brushed his teeth and twisted the small knob on the side of the glasses, idly checking the weather and world news as he performed his morning ablutions. Once his hair was combed and he felt more refreshed, he grabbed his favorite red robe from where it was hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and slipped it on over his shoulders as he shuffled out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

When he stepped out of the bedroom, the music died momentarily before winding up into another slow tune. It was slightly louder out here in the hallway, and as Harry approached the top of the stairs, he could discern the soothing plunk of a mellow piano and the light, rhythmic tapping of a cymbal. Fastening his robe around his waist, Harry descended the stairs quietly. By the time he reached the bottom and continued his quiet trek to the kitchen from which both sound and smell were emanating, two voices had joined the music, one of which was very familiar:—

 _“Shorty get down, good lord,  
_ _Baby got ‘em open all over town. . . .”_

Harry paused before the doorway to the kitchen, allowing himself a small smile. He recognized the song, vaguely—although his memory of it definitely was not this mellow. It was an interesting pick for Eggsy, who preferred more lively tunes (songs that spoke more to his generation, Harry supposed). However, the more Harry allowed Eggsy to commandeer his personal in-home sound system, the more he discovered that Eggsy’s musical inclinations varied widely. Harry had been pleasantly surprised the first time he heard Harry Connick Jr. flow through the speaker in the living room instead of Plan B. 

It was one of the many ways Eggsy was constantly surprising him.

The sight that greeted him when he stepped into the doorway of the kitchen was no exception.

It was like a scene out of a fantasy: sunlight was streaming through the open window, not yet harsh but golden and greeting. The music continued to play, soft and un-intrusive through the speakers located around the kitchen. J.B. was sitting in the corner on his doggy bed, looking up in that doleful, contented way dogs have.

And there, standing at the counter with his back to Harry, was Eggsy, cradling a bowl and whisk and wearing _nothing_ but a long button-up shirt and an apron, tied neatly behind his back.

God, it was a sight for sore eyes.

J.B. perked his head up when he saw Harry, but Harry shot the pup a look and brought a finger to his lips as Eggsy started singing again, whisking his concoction carefully:

 _“Getting paid is her forte,_  
_Each and every day, true player way_  
_I can’t get her outta my mind  
_ _I think about the girl all the time. . . .”_

And, as much as he was enjoying this (he was, _truly_ ), he couldn’t resist breaking the moment by inserting himself into it with the sly observation:

“That isn’t your shirt.” 

He hadn’t spoken too loudly, just in a normal conversational voice; but it was loud enough to pierce through the music and Eggsy’s own singing, and it was evident that Eggsy hadn’t sensed his presence at all because he startled almost violently and whirled around, green eyes wide.

“ _Jeeeezus_ , ‘Arry! Give us an ‘eart attack, will you?” He was holding the whisk up like a weapon and it was an instinctual reaction, but it didn’t make it any less ridiculous. It was compounded by his state of near-nakedness, in addition to the fact that he was wearing Harry’s red “Tomato Snob” apron (given to him at Christmas by Michelle Unwin), cinched neatly around his narrow waist. The overall effect was somewhere between endearing and comical.

It must have shown in Harry’s expression, because Eggsy immediately put the whisk back into the bowl and collected himself, muttering sheepishly: “G’morning.”

Harry smiled and walked over, closing the distance between them in a few steps and bending to kiss Eggsy lightly on the temple. “Morning,” he murmured. “I’m sorry to have startled you.”

Eggsy made an _humph_ noise. “No, you aren’t.”

Harry hummed noncommittally, peering at the contents of the large bowl Eggsy had taken from his cupboard. “And what, pray tell, is this?”

Eggsy’s face brightened with a smile. He put the bowl down gently on the counter beside him, and then bustled Harry into a chair at the small circular table that had some months ago replaced the archaic and unnecessary monstrosity that had been the oblong cherry-wood dining table. Once he had (a rather bemused) Harry seated, Eggsy went over to their coffee-maker, poured into two of the waiting mugs beside it, and ceremoniously brought one over to Harry.

Harry took it wordlessly, lifting his eyebrows.

Eggsy flashed him a grin and then sauntered back over to the counter. Harry’s eyes trailed after him, taking in the bare, muscular legs with their light dusting of hair. When he had no one to answer to, Eggsy preferred _not_ to wear clothing; he slept naked, watched tellie naked, folded his laundry naked, and played with J.B. naked. It was sort of endearing, but also extremely distracting; and, after some grumbling from Harry, Eggsy had relented and took to covering himself around the house—usually with the bare minimum. Harry had more or less gotten accustomed to it by now.

However, there was a distinct difference between having grown accustomed to and having lost appreciation for.

Harry’s eyes walked up along Eggsy’s legs, up the backs of bare thighs, the swell of his arse _just_ peeking out underneath the hem of the shirt. Oh, her certainly hadn’t lost appreciation. Quite the opposite.

Eggsy spoke, disrupting Harry’s leisurely visual perusal. “I,” he declared, picking up a nearby carton of buttermilk, “am making you breakfast.”

Harry blinked. Then he brought the mug of coffee to his lips and took a sip. Perfect. “Oh?”

“Well—” and Eggsy opened a drawer to his left and selected a measuring cup from Harry’s neatly-placed array of cooking utensils, “—it was supposed to be breakfast in _bed_ . . . but you’re up already.” He said this last bit with a touch of irritation, as if Harry had spoiled some great game. Which, perhaps he had.

“I confess to no small amount of surprise that _you_ aren’t still in bed,” Harry confessed, watching as Eggsy poured the buttermilk into the bowl of beaten eggs. “How did you find Estonia?”

Eggsy turned his head to look at Harry and gave a half-shrug. “It was shit, as per. Yeah, well, I was actually impressed m'self to 'ave managed it—being up before you, tha’ is. Guess you were right knackered.” He grinned.

Harry returned the expression with a fond smile of his own. “Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture,” he said slowly, “but why?”

Eggsy stirred slowly, trying not to upset the liquid contents of his bowl too much. He gave a shrug, and Harry did not miss how that little motion made the hem of the shirt ride up _just_ _so_.

“I jus' wanted to,” he said simply. “You’re always cooking for us, an’ I wanted to . . . take care of you, for a change. Give his Majesty the Royal Treatment.”

Harry stared as Eggsy winked at him, and then proceeded to turn his attention back to what could only be the beginnings of pancakes. Very slowly, one of Harry’s eyebrows crept up towards his hairline. He very deliberately set his mug down on the table beside him.

“We haven’t seen each other in three weeks,” he said slowly, “and you want to make me breakfast?”

“Yup. Show you I’m not total pants at cooking.”

Harry considered his lover’s back for a long while. Whatever effect the caffeine was having upon his brain, it was doing very little to help him parse out his current situation. Eggsy, cooking him breakfast. Eggsy, who had been on assignment for three weeks with not hide or hair of him to be seen nor heard. Eggsy, wearing that ridiculous apron, a rumpled button-up that was just a bit tight across the chest, and nothing else underneath.

It was charming, but it really wouldn’t do.

Dimly, Harry was aware of the song changing in the background. Another slow beat started up, the base heavy, thumping in time with his pulse. He pressed his lips together. _“Hmmm.”_

“ 'ave faith in my culinary skills, yeah?” Eggsy said over his shoulder, obviously misinterpreting Harry’s noise.

And, because Eggsy was too busy with his mixing to see, Harry smirked.

Uncrossing his legs, Harry rose from the chair and walked slowly over to Eggsy. He placed his hands gently atop Eggsy’s strong shoulder and said, “If you learned to cook from Michelle, you have my full faith.”

It was Eggsy’s turn to hum as Harry placed a small dry kiss just behind his ear. He squeezed Eggsy’s shoulders lightly before allowed his hands to slide down Eggsy’s back, moving over shoulder blades and then sliding down his toned flanks towards Eggsy’s waist.

“No,” Harry murmured, eyeing the exposed nape of Eggsy’s neck. “What I take to issue at the moment is that we haven’t established the owner of this shirt.” He slid his hands back up, rucking up the shirt just a little. “Though, I will say that it looks suspiciously tailored for someone else’s body.”

Eggsy gave a little wiggle and laughed. “I may 'ave stolen it from a gent’ I know.”

“I had my suspicions.” Harry dropped his hands back down to Eggsy’s toned waist. He squeezed lightly, and let one of his hands trail further downwards, sliding over Eggsy’s cloth-covered arse until he reached the hem of the shirt. He slipped beneath it, and ran fingertips lightly along the crease where thigh met with the swell of a perfectly-formed arse.

 _“You make me feel like a sticky pistil  
_ _Leaning into her stamen”_

Eggsy’s body noticeably stiffened beneath his hands, and he stopped stirring for a second. “Erm, Harry.”

_“You make me feel like a Mr. Sunshine himself”_

Harry ran his fingers along that crease again this time in the opposite direction. “Eggsy.”

Eggsy cleared his throat and began to stir again, though more slowly. “You’re bein’ a bit fresh.”

If he hadn’t been paying so much attention to Eggsy’s ass, he would have definitely snorted because Eggsy was _certainly_ one to talk. Instead, he asked mildly, “Am I?” and placed another chaste kiss to the back of Eggsy’s neck. The skin was smooth there, and he smelled fresh. Harry could barely resist the urge to bury his nose into Eggsy’s short hair and inhale.

Eggsy shivered noticeably at the small kiss; but he determinedly put the bowl down and twisted to face Harry, dislodging the latter’s wandering hands. He looked up at Harry in a manner that was desperately attempting to be stern, one fist on hip. Unruffled, Harry put his now-unoccupied hands into the pockets of his burgundy robe, tiny smirk just peaking around the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah, you are. Go sit back down. Drink your coffee, an’ stop pervin’ the chef.” He looked Harry up and down once, and gave him a little wink. “View’s better from the chair, anys.”

“You think?”

Eggsy waved a hand in some semblance of a shooing motion. “Go prove me wrong.”

Obediently, Harry took a step away and Eggsy, very intent it seemed on making breakfast, turned as soon as it appeared that Harry was going to obey him.

Fortunately, Harry had no intention of doing so.

He wandered back to his chair but instead of sitting down once more, he unloosened the sash of his robe and slid it from his shoulders to drape it over the back of the chair.

“The view is, indeed, stunning,” he said conversationally. “However, there are certain things I would rather not leave to the imagination at this moment.”

A few quick, silent strides put him back in his position behind Eggsy, and he was lifting the borrowed shirt over the curve of his arse before it registered to Eggsy to protest.

“Oi—!”

“Such as the dimples, just here —” Harry said, keeping the same conversational tone as he rubbed his thumbs over the supple dip of flesh at the base of Eggsy’s back. 

Eggsy squirmed, but Harry used his hands to press Eggsy to the counter by the hips. There was a grunt irritation, followed by the sound of a whisk being dropped in a bowl. “I ‘ave _not_ got arse dimples—”

“— _and_ there is a particular mole back here that I am _rather_ fond of—” Harry went on, one of his thumbs tracing lower to where a small brown beauty-mark lay, almost hiding between the clef of Eggsy’s arse. 

Eggsy jumped and squirmed again, unable to hold back a laugh. “Harry!” he said, attempting to twist around. “Harry! Har—ah.” The name died in his throat as one of Harry’s wandering hands slipped under the apron and the front of his shirt to close down upon his warm cock.

Harry smiled bemusedly to himself. Sometimes, it seemed that Eggsy’s body was always in a state of semi-arousal. Sometimes all he had to do was this: reach down Eggsy’s pants (or lack thereof) and take hold, only to find his member already beginning to stir to attention.  

(Of course, he flattered himself that this might be less due to Eggsy being constantly up for it, and maybe more to do with Harry himself.)

 _“You make me feel like a candy apple, all red and horny_  
_You make me feel like I wanna be a dumb blonde  
_ _Centerfold, the girl next door. . .”_

Harry slid his hand slowly along Eggsy’s shaft, his grip firm enough to indicate that he would, at some point, mean business, but also loose enough to let Eggsy know that he was teasing. Testing. He leaned in more closely, moving his other hand to grip at the inside of Eggsy’s thigh, thumb pressing into the juncture where pelvis met thigh. He leaned in, now giving into the urge to place his nose up to Eggsy’s hair; he luxuriated in the inhale, taking in the scent of clean skin and their shared brand of rosemary-mint shampoo. 

“You are a darling boy,” Harry murmured against the back of Eggsy’s neck, giving another slow stroke, Eggsy growing hot in his palm, “and this is a very lovely thing you’ve decided to do for me. But you have been in Estonia for twenty-three days, and right now I would like nothing more than to drag you back upstairs and get _very_ fresh with you.”

Harry pressed his lips to Eggsy’s neck, and so he felt it when Eggsy swallowed hard, and then had to suppress another grunt as Harry gave him a particularly deliberate stroke.

“ _Harry_. . . .” and it wasn’t _quite_ a whine, but it didn’t sound like much else.

“Or,” said Harry, resuming his lazy, teasing handling, “I could have you right here. I would rather have you in bed, where I can take care of you properly, but this counter will do. Or perhaps our breakfast table. Would you like that, Eggsy? I believe we have sullied the majority of rooms in this house, but we could always add another to our list. . . .”

Eggsy, who had been bracing himself against the counter, let out a moan and pushed his arse back into Harry, meeting the hard line of Harry’s clothed cock, obviously trying to get more stimulation than Harry’s cruel hand was lending him. In retaliation, Harry pressed back with his own hips, but stilled his hand in a tight circle at the base of Eggsy’s now very stiff cock.

“I need an answer, Eggsy,” he said patiently. For all that he was just as anxious now as he was before to simply have at it, now that he knew it was a sure thing he was not opposed to tormenting Eggsy at his leisure.

Eggsy didn’t answer, just tried to thrust his hips so that his dick would through the ring of Harry’s fingers; but Harry’s grip was tight, and Eggsy got no reprieve. He grunted in frustration.

Harry set his other hand on the counter beside Eggsy’s waist and pressed up against him fully. He tsked thoughtfully. “It is beyond me why you sometimes grow so quiet. We both know what a mouth you have on you.”

As if to prove a point, Harry bent his head and placed his mouth to Eggsy’s neck again—but this time, instead of giving him a gentle, dry kiss, he chose a patch of skin just above the apron’s strap, and bit down.

Eggsy gave a full-body shudder at that and gasped, “ _Fuck.”_

Harry withdrew, and placed a gentle lick where his teeth had made their mark. “Here, or the bedroom?”

Where they were braced on the counter, Eggsy’s fingers curled.

“Bed.”

Harry nodded serenely. He loosened his fingers around Eggsy cock and petted it with one finger, almost soothing. “Is the stove on?”

This time when Eggsy squirmed, Harry relented and gave him a little leeway. He watched in amusement as Eggsy leaned to the left, and stretched his arm to twist the knob of the electric stove.

“No.”

Harry chuckled, stepping back and releasing Eggsy’s cock all in one smooth motion. It took less than a second for Eggsy to whirl around, mirroring Harry’s smile with a lascivious one of his own.

Harry’s eyes wandered down, stopping at the slight bulge in the fabric of the apron.

“Good.”

**(-KM-)**

 

 

It took considerably longer than Harry would have liked to reach the bedroom. Not that it wasn’t enjoyable—they’d had to stop once in the hallway and once on the stairs for some very serious snogging—but by the time Eggsy had him backed up against the bedroom door, grinding up into him, Harry was losing some of his considerable patience.

Fortunately, he and Eggsy were on the same page. Eggsy gathered the fabric of his pajama shirt in tight fists and practically shoved Harry back into the bedroom. Keeping their mouths pressed together, Eggsy continued backing him up until the backs of Harry’s legs hit the bed, and then Eggsy _did_ place his hot hands on Harry’s chest and shove him down.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows, looking up at his young lover. Eggsy was towering over him, hair a wreck and panting just slightly, whatever reluctance or desire to make breakfast he’d been expressing before now nowhere in sight. However, he was still wearing the shirt and red “Tomato Snob” apron, and if he had looked silly standing like that in the kitchen, he looked positively ridiculous now.  

It was rather sexy, actually.

Eggsy was settling onto the bed, planting his knees on either side of Harry’s legs when Harry surged up to meet him, grabbing the front of the apron and using it to pull Eggsy down to him. Eggsy groaned into the filthy kiss that Harry laved upon him, gyrating his hips.

“This—” Harry said with the air stolen between kisses, “is— _very_ —silly.” He reached up with one hand behind Eggsy’s back and tugged at the end of one tie, pulling loose the knot cinching the apron around Eggsy’s waist. Eggsy wouldn’t stop kissing him long enough for Harry to properly remove the loop from around his neck, so he had to drag it between them, and once it cleared their mouths he threw it carelessly to the floor.

And, because it seemed rather unfair that only one of them should be disrobing, Harry’s shirt soon joined it.

Eggsy gave a little moan and gyrated his hips slowly, the shirt riding up so that his firm length was trapped between their bodies, rubbing against the skin of Harry’s hip. Harry’s hand lit upon Eggsy’s hips and traveled upward; he slipped his fingers underneath the shirt and skimmed over muscular flanks with careful fingers and yes, that was _definitely_ his shirt. It was tight around the chest, and the buttons were beginning to strain the more Harry rucked it up, stretching taught over skin and showing the nubs of his pert nipples.

“Have you been good for me, Eggsy?” Harry asked, tracing the underside of a pectoral muscle gently and then ending by digging his nails into the flesh. He always asked this, after lengthy separations. When an assignment sent Eggsy across the country, to the other side of the planet, or maybe just a township away but so deeply undercover he couldn’t have any outside communication, and even that one occasion Harry himself had been called away for a month to the Berlin office—after this, when they had returned to Harry’s flat and Harry’s bed, he asked Eggsy. _Have you been good for me?_ And it wasn’t necessarily a question of fidelity because the job _did_ require that the Knights know other bodies biblically from time to time. The real question he was asking was: _Have you come back to me? Do you still want this? Am I still enough for you?_

And, god help him, but he shivered every time Eggsy choked out his breathy: “Yes, _god_ yes, Harry, ‘been good, so good,” moaning and moving against him much as he was now.

Harry removed one hand from under his shirt and brought it up to pet Eggsy’s head, drawing his fingers through the dark blonde hair. He murmured against his mouth, “Yes. Yes, you have, my sweet boy.”

Eggsy thrust again, and the drag of his cock against Harry’s bare flesh sent a rush of warmth over him. Eggsy’s hands clawed at his pajama bottoms, and Harry lifted his hips obligingly so that they can be drawn away from his body. Eggsy removed himself from Harry so that he could slide the pajamas the rest of the way down his legs, and he pressed his face into Harry’s thigh, his cheek brushing up against Harry’s hard prick and practically purring.

Harry quirked an eyebrow in amusement. It was not unusual for Eggsy to luxuriate in that particular portion of Harry’s anatomy. Harry’s a big boy, long but not too long and a nice thick girth that Eggsy loves to wrap his lips around. Eggsy was fond of Harry’s body—all of it, as he’d taken more than one occasion to prove—but he was especially enamored with his cock, and often made a point of telling Harry so. And though Harry Hart was not, by any means, an insecure man, he wouldn’t deny that he reveled in the extent to which Eggsy reveled in him sexually.

Watching Eggsy nuzzle him again, Harry asked mildly, “Enjoying yourself?”                                   

Eggsy stopped and blinked slowly up at him. His green eyes had grown dark, pupil dilated to dark black pits. He opened his mouth.

Impertinently, obscenely, Eggsy’s stuck out his pink tongue and pressed the flat of it against the side of Harry’s cock. He didn’t lick, just nudged the hard, swollen flesh. When Harry’s cock jumped, Eggsy smirked and did it again, this time curling his tongue around the underside.

Harry reached out a hand to Eggsy, about to close his eyes and let out a sigh as he pet Eggsy’s head—but found himself curling his fingers tightly into Eggsy’s hair and hissing as Eggsy turned his head slightly and bit the sensitive inner flesh of Harry’s thigh.

Harry gave a mock scowl and gripped a little harder than necessary, eliciting a little whine from Eggsy as he tugged the younger man up the bed. When they were at eye-level, he kissed Eggsy soundly, and muttered with false irritation, “You insolent little tart.”

Eggsy just grinned into his mouth. “Too right, I am. Planning to do somefin’ about tha’?”

“I am willing to consider suggestions.”

Eggsy sucked on his lower lip and ran a hand up Harry’s side. He shifted closer so that they were pressed together, the only thing separating them being the now very wrinkled shirt Eggsy was still wearing. Harry rested a firm hand on Eggsy’s hip as Eggsy leaned in to mutter low into his ear. “Yeh? Well how ‘bout this: I want you to make me _scream_. I want to ride your cock until I’m shaking. I want you to make me feel those three weeks I’ve missed.”

Harry shivered despite himself and his cock gave another twitch; but he managed to reply in an even, almost-menacing voice: “And what if I _don’t_ let you come?”

A hand reached around to knead fondly at Harry’s arse. “You will,” Eggsy said confidently. “You wouldn’ leave a bloke hanging.”

Harry pulled back to look Eggsy sternly in the eye. “Perhaps. But if you want to come, you will have to work for it. Please, fetch the lubricant.”

Eggsy’s green eyes widened, and he let out a soft happy groan of “oh, _sir”_ before scrambling away and reaching over into the drawer of the bedside table where Harry kept supplies. When he turned back, he had a small bottle of lube in his hands and he was already uncapping the lid.

Harry pushed himself up until he was leaning back against the headboard in a sitting position. He then directed Eggsy: “Sit on your knees, legs spread—good,” he smirked when Eggsy scrambled once again to obey. “Now, spread some slick onto your fingers. I want you to open yourself for me. Just one finger for now, Eggsy. Start slow. Press in gently. There, now. Pull out and press in a few times, to the second knuckle only—beautiful. How do you feel, Eggsy?”

Eggsy shifted, one hand on the bed to steady himself, the other behind him and working slowly. He gave a tiny little moan, and raised his other hand, going to reach for his dick—

“No, don’t touch yourself,” Harry said sharply, and relished the way Eggsy’s hand immediately halted in mid-air. He watched intently as Eggsy slowly put his hand back onto the bed, his other continuing to work in and out of him slowly. “When you are ready, you may add another finger.”

Eggsy didn’t need to be told twice. It seemed he had just gotten the feel of one finger before he was adding another, letting loose a wanton “ahh” as he filled himself up more.

“Lovely,” Harry praised. He shifted his legs and took a hold of his own cock in one hand. Smiling cruelly at Eggsy, who was staring at him with a certain amount of desperation, he jacked his length leisurely and did not miss how Eggsy’s free hand twitched.

“Scissor your fingers, Eggsy,” Harry commanded as he drew up his hand along his dick. “Do it the way I would, if it was my hand opening you up.”

“I—oh,” Eggsy’s eyes rolled back and his mouth dropped open as he did as he was told. His hips thrust downward onto his hand. “Fuck, Harry, jesus–”

Harry smirked, letting go of himself. “Now, there is the mouth I’m so fond of.” He sat up more fully and maneuvered so that he was kneeling in front of Eggsy. He eyed the taught fabric of the white button-up where it was straining over Eggsy’s well-define chest. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he warned as his fingers moved to the straining buttons.

Eggsy just barely nodded and bit back another moan. The hand on the bed made a fist in the sheets, and Harry clucked his tongue in approval as he undid the buttons one-by-one. As he worked, he spoke in a soft conversational tone, the same tone he used when fixing Eggsy’s tie.

“My lovely boy. Look at you. Are you tight, Eggsy? I’m sure you are. If you have been as good as you say, haven’t touched yourself there since you’ve been away, you will be rather tight. You have been good, haven’t you Eggsy? You haven’t been galavanting around doing sordid things with strangers? I may not want to fuck you if you’ve been bad. Tell me you’ve been good, Eggsy.”

Eggsy was panting now, and his cheeks had turned pink. “Yeah, I’ve been good, 'Arry. I’ve been—" he groaned, "—shit! _Mmmm._ ”

Now that the shirt was fully open, Harry skimmed his hands along the pale flesh, fingertips dancing over the little moles here and there. He placed a hand flat against Eggsy’s pectoral and smoothed his thumb over the brown nipple, rubbing it into a hard nub. “Give yourself another finger,” he said generously.

Eggsy stopped just a moment to dribble more slick onto his hand and then went back to work. He let out a low moan as he pushed three of his fingers inside, the muscles of his strong thighs tightening. “Ha-Harry!” he said hoarsely.

Harry continued to play with his nipples; he pinched each one between thumb and forefinger. “Hmmm?”

“God, I want your cock,” Eggsy whined. A tiny rivulet of sweat dripped down his chest and abdomen and his cock bobbed, thick and red. “Christ, I need it, Harry. I need you to fuck me, split -- ah— split me open. Will you let me bounce on it, please, Harry? I been _so good_ for you, Harry, _please_ —” 

The rest of Eggsy’s words were swallowed in a moan as Harry surged forward and kissed him wetly. Blindly, he felt for the lube. When he found it, he popped the cap and squeezed a dollop onto his own hand, bringing it immediately to his cock and slicking himself up, all the while licking hungrily into Eggsy’s mouth.

He pulled back and lay himself back down on the bed. “Come here, Eggsy,” he beckoned. “Come here, have a seat.”

Eagerly, Eggsy pulled his fingers out. He pulled off the shirt the rest of the way and crawled over to Harrry, completely naked. He swung a leg over Harry and positioned himself above him.

Harry let Eggsy take his cock from him and guide it towards his entrance. He was torn between watching his member disappear into Eggsy’s accepting body and watching Eggsy’s face as it went through various contortions of pleasure and a little pain.

And, god, was Eggsy tight. Harry had to dig his nails into his palm to keep himself grounded as Eggsy’s snug heat enveloped him, pulsing around him. _Oh, good lord_. Not for the first time he thought that, if he died like this, that was a more than perfectly acceptable way to go, dignity be damned. 

Once Eggsy was fully seated, his arse resting on Harry’s thighs, he took the opportunity to close his eyes. Harry, who had regained some control though not his patience, reached up and cheekily tweaked a nipple.

Eggsy’s entire body twitched. “Harry!” he said in something that sounded suspiciously close to a squeak.

Harry removed his hand to Eggsy’s thigh where it pressed against his waist and squeezed. “Move, Eggsy.” And then, when Eggsy did not seem ready to comply: “Consider it an _order_.”

“Fuck.” And that did it. Eggsy raised his hips just a little and settled back down. He did this a few times, just lifting himself maybe two inches off of Harry’s cock, not really providing much friction. After the fifth agonizing time, Harry growled, and this time Eggsy lifted up almost until just the head was inside him, and sank back down smoothly. He did it again, faster, and soon he was indeed bouncing on Harry’s cock, moaning obscenely, eyes shut in concentration.

“Mmm. God, Harry, tha’s good. So thick, perfect, jus’ wha’ I need. Oh, you’ve got a gorgeous cock, jus’— _ah!_ ”

While Eggsy had been finding his rhythm, Harry had been laying quite still, letting Eggsy use his cock as he would. Now, however, he thrust up sharply; and he must have hit Eggsy’s prostate because Eggsy mewled wantonly. A little precum dribbled down from the head of his dick where it bounced against his abdomen.

“Do that again, do—yeh,” he panted. He rolled his hips, which Harry matched with another succession of thrusts.

For the next few minutes, all that could be heard was their ragged panting interspersed with the occasional filthy praise or expletive from Eggsy. Harry felt tight with need, and he pushed his hips up greedily into Eggsy’s warm body. Another few minutes and Eggsy was moaning in earnest now, working his hips quickly up and down and keening as his arse began its tell-tale clenching around Harry’s cock.

“Oh, oh, oh, Harry, _fuck, Harry_ , I’m—”

He didn’t even get to finish before he was groaning loudly and brokenly, cock jerking and spilling white come onto Harry’s chest as he bore down on Harry’s cock.

Before Eggsy could completely come down, Harry growled and grabbed his hips forcefully. He slid out with an obscene _squelch_ and used his strength to flip them so that Eggsy was underneath him. He took no time in man-handling Eggsy’s body (which was quickly becoming pliant and rag-doll like from his orgasm), grabbing his ankles and settling them over his shoulders.

Eggsy gave another little moan as Harry lined up again and pushed himself back into Eggsy’s stretched hole and, _god_ , it was glorious. Eggsy's body, so pliant beneath him, so welcoming, but still tight and slick. Harry braced his hands on the bed and began slamming his hips into Eggsy; the sound of flesh slapping flesh intermingled with Eggsy’s soft little pants and his own guttural growls.

“Come on, Harry,” Eggsy encouraged throatily. His head was lolled back over the pillows, exposing his throat, and his hands were gripping the bed sheets tightly, just holding on for dear life. “Fuck me. Fuck my sweet arse, Harry, fill me up. I want it, god, harder—" he stopped to let out a high keen from the back of his throat. "Oh, fuck. . . ”

It was too much. Eggsy's voice all around him, his filthy encouragements ringing in Harry's ears, his warm taught body. Harry gasped some choked-off variant of Eggsy's name as he pounded into him and suddenly his orgasm was spilling forth, tightening everything in him, curling his toes as he spurted hot and wet inside Eggsy.

Eggsy gave a little moan beneath him. Dizzy with arousal, Harry thrust into him shallowly, milking the last of his orgasm as it shuddered through him. 

Before he could fully regain his faculties, his mouth was being assaulted by a very hot, slow kiss. He kissed back, moaning into Eggsy’s mouth as he slid out and they untangled their bodies; they simply pressed themselves together, not caring for the come they smeared between their rosy and glistening bodies.

When they finally broke apart for air, Eggsy’s face was flushed a deep pink and there was a glitter of sweat on his brow. Harry ran a hand fondly through his hair, brushing a damp strand away from his ear. Eggsy licked his swollen lips and gazed at Harry dazed through blown green eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Harry smiled. And then he smirked as he gave Eggsy a small little kiss on his damp forehead. “ _Now_ ,” he said smugly, “you can make me breakfast.”

           

**(-KM-)**

 

_Fin_

 

//

 

[Chet Faker - "No Diggity"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s1JsBhRCRH0)

[Paula Cole - "Feelin' Love"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X79NuiuTPc0)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have I spent an inordinate amount of time looking at pictures of these two standing together to determine whether or not Taron’s chest is too broad to wear Colin’s shirt.
> 
> Why does his apron say "Tomato Snob"? The world may never know; but I've seen a few on the interwebs, and I like them.


End file.
